Jupiter's Halo Book One: The Lies

Chapter Seventeen "The Failed Disguise"

The turn in the corridor had led on to another line of closed doors, four of them again. There were no sounds of other victims reaching his ears so he guessed the rooms beyond were empty.

He was glad of the thought. Escaping one chamber might go unnoticed for long enough for him to find his bearings, but releasing Johs and killing a second Father could only reduce the time it took for someone to respond in force.

He looked back at Johs as they crept along. The Sergeant had one arm across his stomach. Clearly the wound there was more serious than he’d admitted.

That was standard behaviour for Johs. He acted like he was invincible, even though they both knew it wasn’t the case. Apart from the way he held himself the s***h in his skin didn’t seem to be hindering him. Perhaps it wasn’t all that bad, although Aitkin knew the skin would still be burning from the touch of the Father’s strange blade.

He would need to keep an eye on his friend. It was just like the man to deny any sign of weakness right up to the point of collapsing. If he did that here Aitkin wasn’t certain he could get them both out alive.

They’d attempted to get the auto-surgeon in his chamber running before they fled. The machine could have healed him in moments, but it must have been slaved to the dead Father, as it solidly refused to accept any and all commands they tried.

The machine's refusal to cooperate had vexed Aitkin but at least he had managed to break off the laser cutting arm for an improvised weapon. It wouldn't offer much of an edge if they came up against well-armed opposition, being little more than a short blade of energy, but having something was been better than nothing.

The end of the hallway turned another corner. Aitkin approached it slowly with caution. He knelt as he reached the apex and held up a hand, signalling Johs to stop. He listened intently for a moment, trying to steady the loud beating of his heart.

Their tentative grasp on freedom was fraying his nerves and the adrenaline spike from his rush to save Johs still hadn’t subsided. Aitkin looked down at his hands and noted the slight tremor in his fingers.

He needed to breathe. He needed to calm himself, but there was no time. Stepping around the corner could see them facing guards armed and standing ready. It could see them walking right into the path of a security force sent to secure their recapture. It could see them walking into anything.

He listened for another moment. There were still no sounds.

Aitkin braced himself and waved Johs forward. He stepped around the corner, standing straight as he moved and stopped suddenly.

The corridor ended abruptly at a sealed bulkhead.

It filled the space between walls, floor and ceiling. Three metres of dark, polished metal without adornment. It was like a wall.

"Well, that looks inviting," Johs said as he followed Aitkin around the corner.

His tone was light as always, but Aitkin caught the slight edge of pain to it. Johs was suffering.

“It’s the way out of the torture cells, Sergeant, what could be more inviting?”

Johs grunted his agreement.

"What do you think's on the other side, sir?"

Aitkin stepped closer and ran his hand over the door. It was cold to the touch and completely featureless.

"I don't know." Aitkin traced the outline of the bulkhead with his eyes, looking for some clue to its workings.

“A better question is how do we open it?” he muttered.

Johs gave a little humming sound.

"Comm-link maybe? Like the terminals on the Pride, sir.”

The idea had merit. Comm-links were not simply the domain of the Six Companies. They were used throughout Deorum society in a variety of ways. It was conceivable that an entity that had been around as long as the Fatherhood would have been able to get their hands on the technology. Quite probably by removing it from the heads of their victims.

“If that’s the case we’re not getting through anytime soon. I don’t know about you but I think I must have skipped the day at the academy when they taught us how to jerry-rig a hostile comm-link. I’m guessing yours isn’t in working order?”

"No, sir. Had a gap in my head ever since I woke up. No idea how they've done it, but there's nothing there." Johs gave a little chuckle." And you'd have put the enemy's back together before you could use it. I reckon you smashed that guys link along with the rest of his head."

Aitkin stopped his appraisal of the door.

“’That guy’?” He said. “You know where we are don’t you, Johs? Who that was?”

Johs looked at him as if he was daft.

“You mean the guy who cut me half to ribbons, sir? The guy who droned the same bloody questions at me for days and never once had the decency to let me stick that bloody knife in his stomach? Yeah, he was a bloody psycho and a torturer and I enjoyed watching you smash his head in.”

Aitkin looked at him seriously.

“Johs, that guy was a Father. You know? A Father, Johs. As in the Fatherhood.”

Johs’ trademark grin faltered.

“Come on, sir,” He said incredulously, “The Fatherhood isn’t real. That’s all just stories.” His face had paled noticeably. “Isn’t it?”

Aitkin shook his head.

“No, Johs, they’re not just stories.” He placed a hand on the big Sergeant’s shoulder. “Sorry.”

Johs looked like he was about to collapse. His eyes unfocused and Aitkin felt the slightest tremble on is skin.

“If they catch us again-”

“We’re getting out, Johs.” Aitkin interrupted him with as much confidence as he could muster.

It was a bold statement to make. So far all they knew for sure was that they’d reduced the Fatherhood’s numbers by two. If the entire organisation was made up of single figures then that was a pretty significant loss.

Aitkin suspected that wasn’t the case. He suspected that what they’d seen so far was just a tiny part of the Fatherhood’s operation. Beyond the door, whatever it was that waited there would be just another step on their journey to freedom.

It was likely enough that whatever lay on the other side would be their undoing, if they could even open the bulkhead at all.

Behind him the door gave a hiss and parted centrally, it’s two separated halves sliding back into recesses in the walls.

Aitkin turned to see a pair of black armoured figures, their faces half-concealed behind dark visors, pistols holstered at their hips. He couldn’t see their eyes but their body language told him they were as surprised to see him there as he was to see them.

He twisted bodily and adjusted his grip on Johs’ shoulder.

“What are you doing with this patient Father?” The nearest guard asked. He sounded young, uncertain, but Aitkin couldn’t tell if it was because of disbelief he was a Father or fear of challenging his superior.

Aitkin’s mind raced as he sought to capitalize on that doubt.

“Prisoner transport?” Even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice. He had no idea where the thought had come from, but it had taken direct control of his voice. “I mean patient transport.” He corrected himself, trying to inject more confidence into his voice.

He could feel the scepticism radiating from the guards.

“That’s… irregular Father.”

His story wasn’t entirely convincing them but clearly the Father’s held enough sway for the idea to give them pause. Aitkin could see their fear of laying hands on him in their hesitant, faltering movements. Maybe the punishment for accosting a Father was similar to what he and Johs had endured. If so he could understand their hesitancy.

The guard looked down at Aitkin’s bare feet. His head snapped up and his hand moved to draw his pistol. The disguise was lost.

Aitkin brought his other hand up from behind his back, the auto-surgeon's laser cutter fizzing as he swung it to burn through the guard's helmet and bury itself in his head. The man folded at the knees, collapsing to the floor, his weapon clattering down beside him, unfired.

His colleague was slower to react and hadn't even tried to draw his own weapon from its holster before Johs' huge fist crashed into his visor. The shining surface shattered and he screamed as shards peppered his face and pierced his eyes. Johs followed up with an overarm swing that brought his other hand down hard on top of the man's head. Despite the protection of his helmet Aitkin saw the jarring force of the blow as it travelled through him. He fell beside his companion and Johs reached down to retrieve his pistol, putting two shots into his chest as he rose to stand.

He looked at Aitkin.

“Prisoner transport, sir?”

“It nearly worked.” Aitkin looked at the prone bodies before them and gave a shrug. “It did work. Sort of.”

Johs gave a little laugh.

“I guess it did, sir. And now we know what’s on the other side of the door.”

Aitkin had seen it too. The familiar confines of a trans-terminal had been concealed by the bulkhead. To his left were the dials for its operation, although their designations gave him no hint at where each would lead.

“And it was nice of them to bring us down these handy weapons and armour,” Johs said. “They’ll be a real help.”

Aitkin looked at the dead guards and smiled.

“It was nice of them.” He said, “But it might not be quite as helpful as you’re hoping.”

Johs looked at him with confusion. He glanced down at the guards and back to Aitkin.

 “Why not?” he said, his face perplexed. Aitkin smiled wider.